Words from a biker on Highway 1 yesterday

Why is statistics like a bikini?

Because what is revealed is interesting, what is concealed is vital.

The People in Arkansas

I’ve met several interesting people in the past few days in Arkansas. All of the natives have been warm and a couple of the outsiders have stood out.

I met a family who is touring the country for 400 days on bikes. I haven’t have a chance to check out their site, www.familyonbikes.com, but I imagine it’s got some good info.

Tonight I pulled into Eureka Springs after riding a little more than 200 miles up from Russellville to Missouri and then back down. I found a biker only motel called Rider’s Rest. When I arrived I was the only one here. Shortly after I took my bags in, a group of six bikes from Louisiana pulled in. I ended up going to dinner, trading motorcycle stories, and getting some pointers on tomorrows ride to Oklahoma. I’m continually impressed at how friendly other bikers are. I have to say, if you don’t ride, you probably haven’t experienced what I’m trying to conveign.

Takin’ a bath in Hot Springs, Arkansas

I’ve spent the last two days in a quaint historic town that gets its name from the 47 hotter-than-bath-water springs. This place was the place to visit when doctors prescribed hydrotherapy and everyone traveled by train. Densely covered Hot Springs Mountain (more like a hill) is a backdrop to the magnolia-lined Bath House Row. Along this road is a series of bath houses which have long since past their prime (all but one are closed). The most ornate, the Fordyce, was turned into the visitors center for this, the smalled National Park. A tour of the Fordyce (sounds like four-dice) gives visitors a peak into a luxury spa nearly 100 years ago. Some of the signs compared this bath house to the great Roman and European baths. (After seeing Roman ruins, if I had to chose one in my DeLorean, I’d go Roman.) The marvels of the machine age are certainly worth note. The shower contraptions, sprayers, and machines all had that hand-built but machine-like quality. The chrome knobs, levers, spray nozzles, thermometers, and intricate piping reminded me of a time gone, a time that’s been replaced by our digital blackbox miniaturization. It’s probably a good thing our fascination with electricity and its healing powers have waned. Although no one was electrocuted by the electrically infused bath, it couldn’t have been healthy. Plus the healing powers of mercury have been replaced with lights flashing “Danger Zone”. All-in-all I can see why history has swallowed most of this routine.

However, after seeing all this and having covered 800 miles the previous two days, I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I signed up for “The Works” which included a hot springs fed bath, a hot towel cool down, and a short massage. After talking with the hostess who sat behind the oldest computer I’ve seen in use in a long time (complete with black and green screen) and in front of what looked like a bank of small PO boxes, I walked into the men’s half of the bath house to meet Gyula who showed me to my private tub which was long enough for my whole legs and most of my body to soak in the hot water. Normally the soak lasts 15 minutes, but since the place was nearly empty, I was left for 25. Standing up, I realized why hot tubs and alcohol don’t mix (I was totally sober and thus didn’t faint, but was close). The soak was followed by a relaxing hot towel treatment where hot towels are placed along your back and neck and you’re covered by a sheet. The coup de grace was the ice cold forehead towel. This relaxing repose was followed by a slightly cool shower that had one head on top and an array of brass pipes with pin holes drilled which created a nearly 360 degree rinse. The control for the shower was the best part. Two pipes, a hot and cold came down from the top of the partition and met in a large “regulator” about half the size of a loaf of bread. Above the knob that controlled the mix was a giant radial thermometer which had a small part labeled “Safe” in green and a very large region, from about 110 to 212 labeled “Danger Zone”. I had to smile and I wished I had had my camera, and although the little one’s waterproof, taking it into a working bath house seemed like a bad idea. The whole process finished with a massage from a man named Beufort who I thought was blind given that his eyes were closed the whole time and definitely used his hands to “see” as he walked around (he walked right into the curtain). When he mentioned the place were he bought his most recent car, I began to worry about driving in this area.

Longest day yet

Today was my longest day so far, and I have to say, the bike ran great. I started in Meridian, MS just across fom Alabama and 442 miles later ended up in Hot Springs, AR. I beat my previous record of 350 miles set the day before. The weather’s starting to warm up (a little), which hopefully indicates Spring is almost here. You can see on a map my start and finish with the link below.

Longest Day
Nota bene: I’m doing this post including the link from my BlackBerry so it may not work.

The return of ’small’

I’m sitting at a Wendy’s in Mississippi,
http://5pears.org/mapw.php?n=1&f=83,
where someone finally figured out that having Medium, Large, and Extra-large doesn’t make any sense. What’s the smallest size now? Small (but it turns out it’s the old medium). At least it makes sense with 3 choices. I really see this as evidence of the ‘enlargement’ of the US. Twenty ounces is a lot of soda, I guess the ice makes up for it.

Another 1,000 miles down

I’ve traveled 1,000 miles in the first week and been through GA, SC, NC, TN, AL, and am now in MS.

Here’s a quick recap: Davant Plantation was an excellent first stop to get refreshed and reorganized. The restaurant “California Dreamin’” in Columbia had an appropriate name for how I feel. Asheville had a great co-op organic food store. I can’t believe the Biltmore was a house, it was way bigger than the palaces I visited in Russia last summer. I got to revisit college life with a game of flip-cup (with cider not beer). The Decemberists in both Knoxville and Nashville rocked my socks off. Visiting the Banks provided another welcome respit. The Barber Motorsports Museum blew my mind with its enoumous collection of amazing motorcycles presented like toy cars would be in a display case. Almost running out of gas in rural Alabama in the dark with the temperature dropping below freezing was a good rush (after I had filled the tank).

Now I’m heading across Mississippi turning right in Louisiana and aiming for Hot Springs National Park in Arkansas, which was set aside as public land before Yellowstone, and could arguably be the first national park. I hear from Bil that some of the best mountain roads are in that area. I’m looking forward to confirming that.

Decemberists, Knoxville & Nashville

The last two days have been great. I was able to catch the Decemberists in both Knoxville and Nashville. The two shows were in really different theaters. In Knoxville, they played the Tennessee Theater, a place where you’d be just as likely to see an opera. It had two levels where everyone had a great view. From the top level we could easily see the stage and were able to sit the whole time, a luxury at a rock concert. In Nashville at City Hall all the tickets were general admission with barely any standing room. My friends from Vanderbilt found a great spot right near the stage. The feel of the second show was entirely different. Perhaps it was because I was closer, but I really think the fact that everyone was crammed in took the energy level up a notch. At one point, Colin Meloy, the lead singer, put the band to sleep and had the entire crowd sit on the floor and be quiet.

Gillian Welch, an amazing blue grass singer, came out for two songs. It was a lot of fun to see two great artists play together. download here, 100mb.

Both nights they played the Mariner’s Revenge for an encore. It’s definitely one of their most entertaining tracks. If you haven’t heard it, the story goes like this, two men are in the belly of a whale when one tells the other the story of how their “lives intertwine”. Shortly after a boy father dies, his mother takes a young new lover who leaves her saddled with debt. On her deathbed the boy’s mother asks him to find this evil man and get revenge. After many years the now grown boy hears about a sailor who matches the description, so he decides to hunt him down. He sets sail with a band of privateers, after several months they find the ship and as they’re about to attack, a giant whale attacks both ships, kills the crew of both leaving only the boy and the sailor, then the boy tells him the story of hunting him down to get revenge. download here, 200mb.

Fotos (finally)

After finding two host Macs, I’ve been able to download, geocode, and upload quite a few pictures. You can check them out in this collection:
http://flickr.com/photos/5pears/collections/72157600050799959/

Many of them are also on the map already here:
http://flickr.com/photos/5pears/map/

no cruisin(g) area

no cruisin(g) area

This photo reinforces the idea mentioned in my earlier bike week post about the universal nature of cruising the strip. Here in Knoxville, they have a city statute that prohibits such action late at night. What I wonder is what lead to the creation of this sign. I’m imagining a perpetual 50 car traffic jam rotating through this intersection like a towel in one of those bathroom machines that recirculates the towel every few guests.

Blue Ridge Parkway

The season hasn’t started so there were almost no cars for my entire 75 mile stint (no more than 20, and never any traffic). I felt the most connected to my bike yet. Going up and down through the gears as the road twisted and turned all in the shadows of leafless trees on the verge of returning to their full green glory got my blood pumping and reinforced the reason I decided to aim for the sunset on two wheels. The fluttering of the sunlight passing through the shadows created a mesmerizing strobe-like effect that is certain to disappear as soon as the foliage returns. I feel lucky to have had it to myself, to take at my own pace, to soak up the beauty.

The Blue Ridge Parkway comes from a WPA-era project that created a non-commercial two-lane road that follows the ridges of the Smoky Mountains for a little less than 500 miles from Virginia to the western end of North Carolina.